Smoking In The Art Room
by wittyness
Summary: Life was like that sometimes, too much wheels and water and not enough color. Things pass you by as plain as day and all you ever see are the wheels turning and the water splashing in your face. Warning: I'm not sure really some cursing maybe


I remember the day he arrived in our first period class.

It was Wednesday, four-mile lap day in gym, taco day in the cafeteria, Emily Fitzgerald had hawked a loogie in homeroom just ten minutes prior. I can't really recall what I had dreamt about the night before, but I do know who I dreamt about every night there after.

He had walked right into my Biology Two class wearing the craziest outfit I didn't think any teenager was physically capable of wearing to school without running away in terror. His torso was covered in a over sized, long sleeve shirt that seemed to swallow his small frame entirely, even the sleeves hung low enough to conceal most of both her hands. The shirt was bright purple with one miniature pocket where two neatly sorted pens were clipped to the inside.

The ensemble only got worse when I eyed his weird…what would they be? Too long to be shorts or capris, like somebody had left off a few inches of fabric. Not that it would've helped in any way, he was wearing pants that were _plaid_.

The mentally handicapped kids next door were better dressed.

Things only progressed as he was directed to sit beside me, every pair of squinty eyes settling on the fresh meat as he pushed his glasses back up his nose and shuffled to his new seat. The kid was a social cesspool—that much was certain from the first class I'd spent with him. He'd raise her hand and look down at her notebook as he gave the correct answer to every question on the board, avoiding direct eye contact with the teacher _or_on looking students.

I remember peeking over at his notebook on that first day, curious as to what a know-it-all like himself would have written down. To my supreme surprise: what I found was a doodle. A doodle that comprised of what looked to be himself holding out a light saber, dressed in full Jedi-knight attire.

With one eyebrow raised, I whispered, "Are you for the dark or light side of the force?" I jumped a little when the kid immediately pulled his notebook back and shielded it from my view, not speaking for the rest of the remaining period.

It was only when the bell had rung and everybody begun shuffling off to their next class that he turned to me and quietly murmured, "I'm part of the rebellion."

I think I might've smiled. But I really couldn't focus on anything other than my heart beating a million times a minute.

Nero shared Biology, English, and Social Studies with me.

He'd mostly be silent as death during class, even when everybody would goof off and yell across the room in English, he only ever spoke when answering a question. At lunch he sat by himself, munching on a tuna sandwich in the far back of the cafeteria—which was scarcely used when it suddenly became cool to skip lunch and bitch about hunger pains during class—and I recall one of my friends referring to him as 'social disease.'

Nero never wore anything that didn't look picked out of a garbage can or bought from the Good Will. He usually had on a pair of bulky reading glasses during class and the bare glance I'd gotten of his mouth, showed that he had shiny metal braces covering both rows of teeth. This kid was socially inept and not very kind to make up for it.

Then why did he interest me?

I honestly don't know what it was. He always glared at me during biology, shielding his notebook from my view as much as possible. He hasn't said more than a sentence to me since the first day he'd transferred. And to be blunt: he weirded me out pretty thoroughly.

But I couldn't help it. I found myself wanting him to like me, despite how often he ignored my questions during class. I tried everything from then on, almost turning into a desperate, erratic mess. I started passing notes with him one Friday morning, while the teacher prattled on about photosynthesis. I drew a picture of myself with a black hood hanging over my head, light saber in hand.  
_**  
Care to join the dark side?**_

I swear I saw him smirk for a bare second, biting his red bottom lip before scribbling down a response and quickly shoving it in front of me.

_**The death star will fall**_.

I thought about it for a moment before writing my response.  
_**  
I find Your lack of faith disturbing.**_

To this he actually _did_smile, strapped on metal gleaming under the classroom lights.

Vaguely I noted that his brackets were red and blue.

I got lost for a second, seeing him smile for the first time. Without thinking, I murmured, "Why don't you smile more often?" Nero stared at me for a moment, lips falling into a slack frown.

The bell rung then and his gaze nervously darted around the room. He looked at me once more before taking the piece of paper, shoving it in his backpack, and hurrying off to second period.

I often smoked afterschool in the old abandoned art room when school got too stressful.

All they wanted us to do for six hours straight was _thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthi nk_. Teachers yelling in your face, test papers shoved in your hands—_use a number two pencil_, they reminded_, if you don't have one, one will be provided_—and every other second was spent worrying about social statuses and teenage conflict. So sue me if I'm entitled to a cigarette every so often.

Smoking time was also thinking time—good thinking, not the bad kind that causes your brain to explode with useless information—a time to assess the ins and outs of being seventeen. And currently all I could think of was Nero. I care about his opinion of me.  
_  
Why did I care about his opinion of me?_

Was it because it definitely wasn't superficial? He didn't use some imbecilic judging scale that every other teen our age uses.

He genuinely didn't like me.

Granted, it seems like he genuinely didn't like _anybody_. But that fact didn't seem to bother anybody _but_me. And it's like my mind was dwelling on that one thought, like it's manifested my every movement. I guess the question isn't 'why doesn't he like me' but it's 'why do I want him to so badly'?

I thought about that for the rest of the day, zoning out through lunch and my remaining two classes, only noticing when everybody in sixth period shrieked as a loud crack of thunder broke over head. By the time school let out, it was pouring rain outside. Kids were running past puddles with folders held over their heads in an attempt to make it home dry. Some girls were laughing and some were voicing their utter hatred for rainy days.

I didn't really seem to notice much else, I just found myself an empty curb just outside of school, sitting downwith my elbows folded on my thighs and my hands resting under my chin as the rain soaked my clothes.

"You're gonna get sick."

I looked up at the owner of the voice, staring for a long moment as Nero glared at the ground, an umbrella poised in one hand. My eyebrows drew together as I scrubbed the raindrops from my forehead. "Do you hate me?"

He seemed embarrassed for a moment, one pale hand nervously smoothing over his long kaki shorts. Nero shuffled closer, holding the umbrella over my head in silence, not caring if the rain messed up his neatly combed hair. I looked at the cars passing by filled with kids, speeding down the street in a blur of wheels and water.

Life was like that sometimes, too much wheels and water and not enough color. Things pass you by as plain as day and all you ever see are the wheels turning and the water splashing in your face.

"No."

Nothing really changed after that, Nero still ignored me during class and whenever I passed him notes he'd rip them up and stick them in her backpack. Maybe I was just asking too much—_you're like a spoon full of sugar, _Dante, my brother, used to say, _sweet, invigorating and I love you just the way you are, but some people need to take you in small doses_—he didn't seem like he was here to make friends. Maybe it was all business for Nero; some people were just _born _loners.

But one day everything changed when I was smokin' in the art room like I've been doing almost every other day, lately. The door had creaked open and my whole body froze.

Nero murmured an apology and turned to leave before I even had a chance to say anything.

I jumped into action quickly, dropping the cigarette on the floor and making a grab for his arm. I got a good grip and pulled him as hard as I could, almost sending him whirling for a second. Then I pushed the doorstop up and locked the top lock hastily.

I turned to look at Nero—who was a few inches from me, my hand still clutching his arm—and he was panting harshly, looking unsure and trapped. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his hair was mussed from the sudden ambush.

His lips were red and…

His lips.

His…

And there was my answer. As plain as day for all to see.

Suddenly, I shoved him up against the closest art room wall, seizing his chapped lips roughly, pinning each of his hands on either side of his head. My eyes squeezed shut like a little kid watching a horror movie. We stayed like that for what I counted to be forty seconds before I opened my eyes and pulled back slightly, searching for some kind of answer, some kind of confirmation on how crazy I was.

"You taste like smoke," Was all he said and I took that as 'screw it.'

I kissed him again, slightly less forcefully, releasing his hands to cup the sides of his jaw as our mouths parted. I tasted like smoke and he tasted like Red Hot cinnamon gum, spicy on the tip of his tongue that touched mine.

I wondered if this may be crazy, fucking _insane_. I wondered what kids would say, would they even wave me off before they abandoned me completely? But then, I wondered if Nero would ever kiss me again. After all, just getting the boy to speak was like pulling teeth.

Then I stopped wondering, because all I should _really_be wondering at the moment is why his lips feel so good on mine.

I knew everything would be alright when I went to the art room for another smoke the following day during fifth period.

Nero was already there, sitting on one of the counters. And he was grinning, full out smiling at _me_, running his tongue over his braces idly.

I broke out into the biggest smile, too.

* * *

Thank you SirenaLoreley for pointing out the mistake I had made I think I fixed it and yes I think of the new guy too when people mention Dante smoking.


End file.
